The Interwined Chronicales: Paths Crossed
by HybridmakerV2
Summary: Two wars being fought, two countries in need. What fate shall befall Tamriel should another country interfere with its affairs.


Author's Note

Greetings everyone, this is both my first official fanfiction and crossover, yay.

Now for those of you who haven't played the Elder Scrolls series, or those of you not knowing the months in the game here's a list to help you out.

**Months**

Moring Star = January

Sun's Daw = February

First Seed = March

Rain's Hand = April

Second Seed = May

Midyear = June

Sun's Height = July

Lest Seed = August

Hearthfire = September

Frostfall = October

Sun's Dusk = November

Evening Star = December

Leave a comment of any kind if you like. If any errs have been made then please let me know.

Elder Scrolls: Skyrim, its elements, its characters, and some dialogue belongs to Bethesda

Fire Emblem: Awakening, its elements, its characters, and some dialogue belongs to Nintendo

OCs belong to me

Paths Crossed

Prologue

Nirn, the mortal realm, home of many races as well as serial provinces. A realm always under consent danger. From the war between man and mer of Tamriel, to the greed and fear leading men to extortion of others within the borders of joined provinces. Each land, a home to its own unique race and creature. However two things that all of Nirn have in common. That no amount of land has been untouched by dragons. And in some way all are tied to one another though out the ages.

"_Skyrim, also known as the Old Kingdom, was the first region of Tamriel settled by humans from a far off land: the hardy, brave, warlike Nords, whose descendants still occupy this rugged land."_

_-An anonymous writer lost in time._

**2****nd**** of Sun's Daw, Tamriel**

Skyrim, one of the largest country in Tamriel, a land encompassing terrain and climates. For as many highlands and tundra plains there are as much if not more mountains and deep valleys. Within the northern corner of Skyrim lays the capital of the Eastmarch Hold. The City of Kings other wises known as Windhelm, possibly the oldest city in all of Tamriel, an imposing fortress city protected by its massive stone walls. Being far in the north, the city always seem to suffer an endless winter. However it never seems to be a bother to most of the city's inhabitants.

In the center of this old city stands the oldest building. A Gothic palace served as both a home to the jarl of Windhelm, and as a head quarter of the Stormcloak Rebellion. Through the heavy doors leads to the main hall filled with both a bare banquet table and an empty throne. Despite it being known as the Palace of the Kings, most of the halls lay empty, as if abandoned. But if one were to listen closely, whispers of conversation could be overheard.

Within a fairly sized room stood two burly men. One blonde, clad in both armor and fur. The other a dull bearded man dressed in the clothing of a barbarian. A bear pelt placed over his head and shoulders as well. Each hovering on opposite sides of a table covered with a map of Skyrim of which was caked in tiny flags of red and blue.

"You must be joking of this Ulfric," The bearded man sighed, "Surely you can't be serious?" The blonde man rubbed his tried eyes, "What other choice is there before us, Galmar?" The jarl spoke, "We have been in this war for months, even with the dragonborn by our side. Those blasted Imperials have met us, force by force." The jarl glanced at the map, locking on to the few forts and the single city that have been captured by his men. Two of which had been lead by their rising lieutenants. "We can handle their best. Let what's left of their "forces" come to us. They can even have them milk-drinking elves to hold their swords for them." The man named Galmar said with a following laugh.

The tried ruler cast a glimpse at his old friend. "Surely such a battle would be welcome by any true Nord." Ulfrics features shifted from tense, to a brief look of pride, to end with a look of concern. "A battle with a heavy cost," The ruler draw in a deep breath, "We may lose many to free Skyrim, but would we have enough to protect her people." This was a concern both aged warriors shared. Though he would never be willing to outright say it, but Galmar did agree with Ulfrics decision. After all even their ancestors had formed alliances. However what truly had the aged commander nearly second guessing was their choices for allies. There were the Orcs, however their strongholds were far throughout Skyrim. Both the Argonians and the Dunmer had chosen to stay out of the affairs of this war. While the Redguards of Hammerfell are more than willing to join their cause, they would need to know if joining Ulfric and his Stormclocks would be worth the trouble.

"Where else are we to gain allies Ulfric?" Galmar asked. Now over the years both Ulfric and Galmar had heard tales of other provinces that rested across the seas. Many of which sounded more or less outlandish. Like Alcavir being home to Ape-men or Ylisse as the only land to have winged horses. Maybe just maybe.

**13****th**** February, Ylisstol **

The Halidom of Ylisse, or simply known as Ylisse to outsiders, a tranquil nation lead by a kind and peaceful ruler known as the Exalt. Unfortunately however whereas Skyrim has been in war for nearly a year. Ylisse had just entered one with their neighboring country, Plegia. Plegias ruler, Gangrel or the Mad King, a cruel and deceiving man. Having spend most of his life, and his men, to instigate a war with Ylisstol and steal its greatest treasure. Hours ago the Mad King had succeed in one of his task. In an act of not only kidnapping but also threating the life of the Exalt, Emmeryn. If she did not surrender the treasure of Ylisstol, the Fire Emblem. This action cause the Exalts brother, Chrom, to take action himself in which King Gangrel used to call to war.

As night fall, the Exalt and Ylisse's vigilante force, the Shepherds, had return to Ylisse capital city, Ylisstol. Some members of the Shepherds had rather retried to their room or rested of somewhere in Castle Ylisstol. As for the tactician of the militia, Zulu, had thought he could studying over past battle plans into the late hours of night. In less than half an hour his head was laying on the desk he was using.

Just as it had every other night Zulu's nightmare begin with Chrom and himself striding a darken hall. A stone wall lined with pillars to their right, a wall of magical energy to their lift. Out of nowhere both the prince and the tactician was nearly struck by a bolt of fire, and as they dodged the enlarge fire-ball Chrom rushed in sword drawn. Sparks flew as Chrom's strikes were blocked by electrical charges formed within the palm of their attacker. A tall, dark skinned, some-what mid aged sorcerer. Although using his might, each of Chrom's blows were either blocked or evaded by the sorcerer. While the prince and sorcerer dueled the younger man circle round back, readying a thunder spell. Just as the Zulu unleash his attack the dark skinned man teleported away. However as he reappeared, the well-trained dark mage readied another spell.

Zulu's blood run cold as he once more heard his comrade bellowed. "This is it! Our final battle! You are one of us, Zulu, and no "destiny" can change that." Oddly, unlike his past nightmares Zulu heard some type of muttering in the background.

With a wave of his hand the aged man lunched a ball of flames towards the two. Chrom Blocked it with his blade as Zulu answered back with another spell catching the man off-guard. Though he was hit with an equally powerful thunder spell he still showed no sign of pain. "Why do you resist?" The unshaken man laughed. While muttering became louder the words being used were still unknown to Zulu.

"Fus…"

The tactician proved literal covering fire, as Chrom charged in to end the battle. With a swift slash, the prince mortally wounded their foe. Coming to his friend Zulu noticed the older man opening an ancient tome. With his dying breath the sorcerer spouted with fury, "Fools! You cannot unwrite what is already written!" In his final act a dark sphere was thrown at Chrom.

"…Ro…"

Pain run though Zulu's body as the darken sphere impact with him. A burning sensation soon followed. Zulu knew all too well what the burning was. As he was once more forced to observe as his body acted on its own to kill the young prince. An act of cold blood that has haunted his fares ever since he first meet Chrom. Normally his nightmare ended with the death of his dear friend. This one however.

"…Dah!"

It was now that the now murderesses Zulu turn to face an unknown knight where the wall of magical energy once stooled. The knight wore an armor of gold giving off a faint glow. Zulu and the unknown man locked eyes. Such as Zulu had an unnatural green hair, so too did this man had unnatural colored eyes, sliver. Moments before he awake Zulu once more heard the man shout out. "FUS RO DAH!"


End file.
